Cataclysmic
by xiwang.love
Summary: Oneshot. "They’ll all forget you, like you never existed. I won’t. I can’t." Shannon remembers Boone after his death.


**Cataclysmic**

Spoilers: Lost, 1x20, "Do No Harm"

Disclaimer: I own Lost, and Ian Somerhalder is short, ugly, and balding. Right.

**Notes: **Shannon remembers Boone and their dysfunctional relationship. Reworked 5/16/09.

**x**

My name is Shannon Rutherford, I'm still stuck on this island after god knows how many days, and now…and now I don't even have Boone anymore. Now all I can feel is this fucking sense of helplessness and I hate it. I hate it hate hate it and I just want _out_. And oh god, Boone. You weren't supposed to leave me here by myself. I should have known. I should have known it was all too good to be true. One trade-off for another. My brother – _stepbrother_ – for Sayid's love. Boone's death for Claire's baby. I want to scream until my lungs give out and I can't hear my own voice anymore. _It's not fair!_

You're dead. And life will go on. Night will fall and day will come, everything will go back to normal, and we'll all still be stuck on the stupid island, waiting for the monster to come get us. But you're dead and all I can feel is numbness and loneliness and all the other things I don't want to feel. I haven't felt like this since Dad's funeral and even then I didn't cried. Flashes of gray and rain and your strong arms holding me are all I can remember of that time now.

But I cried for you when I saw your broken, bleeding body. I remember thinking you looked so peaceful. And then hating you for it, because it meant you were probably in a better place, drinking that expensive wine you love so much and arm wrapped around some random blonde that bears an eerie resemblance to me, while I'm still on this goddamned island, left to survive without you. How can I? You're my protector. You've always looked out for me. Always. Even when I was horrible to you, you stuck by me. You're my brother…my lover. You can't leave me. You just can't.

I told Sayid that you loved me and then I said it didn't matter. I didn't mean it. I didn't. I only said it because I was angry. Because you didn't seem to care anymore. Because you were too busy off stomping around in the jungle with John Locke, doing god knows what, while I was stuck on the beach, playing the part of the helpless pretty blonde and pretending that I didn't care you might get eaten by the monster when I really did. But then you knew that. You always knew.

We were good at pretending, you and I, weren't we? We pretended for a long time that there was nothing between us. I pretended not to see the way you looked at me when you thought I wasn't looking, and you would pretend that the connection between us was a perfectly normal, safe brother-sister thing. We liked to think we were a nice, normal family, you by being the dutiful son, taking over your mother's wedding company, me, the spoiled princess, off maxing out credit cards and drinking myself silly until the world spun around and letting any and every guy take advantage of me. We were dysfunctional anyway. Your mother was too busy with her company to give you much attention, and my father a workaholic who was more in love with his work than his family.

What did you call me, a functioning bulimic? I guess it's true. I was obsessed with being the most beautiful girl at school. You always told me I was beautiful, and I would laugh it off and protest and deny it. But I was secretly pleased that you would even take the time to notice. You were obsessed with me for so long, for all that you tried to hide it. I think even our parents might have known, or at least suspected. I'm pretty sure Sabrina did. But they never said anything. I don't know if they just didn't care, or they didn't think either of us would ever have the balls to confront our feelings.

I remember we kissed several times, once at your senior prom, when I came as someone else's date but ended up being escorted home in your limo. Once, on my own prom night. The last time, before Sydney, the night of my high school graduation, when you gave me an expensive necklace as a gift. We almost took it a step further, but then Sabrina stepped into the room and it was like nothing had ever happened.

You, with your tousled dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes that could make any girl swoon. You could have had your pick of girls, but somehow you always ended with girls that looked like me. I hope you didn't think I was so stupid I wouldn't notice. Or maybe you didn't realize it yourself. But the rest of us did. Every time you came home, with another girl hanging off of your arm, Sabrina and I noticed the resemblance, from the blonde hair down to last nail. Even in high school you did it. I had friends ask me about it once, but after I got through with them, they didn't dare bring it up ever again.

God, Boone. Even now, I'm amazed how far your obsession drove you. I used you, over and over again. And you always came swooping in to save the day. We had a hate-love relationship, but that was something I could always count on. The grass was green, the sky blue, the sun would set and rise, and Boone would always come to rescue me. Sometimes I wondered if somehow you knew and you were letting me use you, because it was the only way you could hold on to me, or if it was your misguided love that blinded you to my flaws. I'm a petty bitch and I know it and you knew it, too. But you never cared about that. I never understood why, and I don't think I ever will. And now I can't ask you.

That night, in Sydney, I'll never forget it. I conned you, and once again, you came riding to your sister's rescue, dropping everything to save me. But then you found out the truth, and Bryan took the money and left. And I came to your hotel room, drunk and half out of my mind, and I seduced you. I made you admit that you love me. I didn't expect you to, I really didn't. But then we started kissing and nothing mattered but us in that moment, and the whole world could have gone to hell in that moment for all I would have cared. And then the next day, we both picked up our clothes, got dressed, and walked out of that room strangers again. You hated me, because I made you give in and we slept together. We went back to acting like nothing had happened, even though it had and everything had changed. The world had tilted upside down for one night and nothing could ever be the same again. But we got on that plane, and we were fighting and bitching like normal brothers and sisters.

Even after the plane crashed, we continued to pretend…like when you slept next to me at night, supposedly to protect me, so close that I could feel your breath tickling my hair. Close enough to touch you, to kiss you. You were my protector again, if only for a little while, and I played it up for all it was worth, all so I keep you close by. But then you started to drift away, and I remember the night you came back, looking all weird and tense. You never told me what happened, but the day after that, you started disappearing into the jungle with Locke and you stopped talking to me, and it was like I didn't matter to you anymore. I hated Locke for taking you away from me. So I started focusing my attentions on Sayid. If I couldn't have you, then I'd settle for the next best thing. At least that's what I told myself.

But none of that matters now, because you died yesterday, alone and choking up blood on some island without any of your family or loved ones with you. It's kind of ironic, huh? I think all of us secretly believe either the monster's going to get all of us someday, or we'll be rescued. Fat chance of that. I'm in the cynical group that thinks we're going to get eaten. You won't see either of those days now. You never got a chance to say goodbye. You never got a chance to get married and start a family, or do all those things you once said you wanted to, like travel around the world, just you and me, or even live to see your thirtieth birthday. Hell, you never even got close. You're eternally twenty-four years old and you're going to stay that way forever, preserved in my memories like the way you used to be.

I don't want to remember the way you looked when I ran towards the caves, screaming your name, and I saw your body, after Jack told me, his eyes so somber and grim and pleading for forgiveness, or the way we'd fight over the stupidest things and back-stab each other when it suited us. You could be just as ruthless as me when you wanted to be. You were no saint and you sure as hell weren't perfect, and I never let you forget that. But I don't want to remember any of that now. I only want to keep the good memories, like when we were younger and you would let me crawl under the covers with you during a thunderstorm, or the way you held me when I came home crying because some kid had been taunting me and calling me names. He had a black eye the next day and he never bothered me again. You were the only one I would ever sing for…until Sayid. You were always too good for me. God's frigging gift to humanity, even with all your flaws.

You're not even going to get a decent burial, because there's not much we can do for you on this island. You deserve so much better than this. But all you're going to get is a hole in the ground, a makeshift cross, and a lame eulogy from Hurley. No one's going to grieve except for me and Jack, because you distanced yourself pretty good from the other survivors, especially after you started hanging out with your new buddy Locke. I know Jack tried to save you. He and I are the only ones who haven't held Claire's new baby yet. I think that kind of says something, doesn't it? I'm not ready to let go of you. Not yet. I don't think Jack is, either, but that's because no doctor likes to lose a patient, and he's the kind of man who takes that kind of loss personally. Sun told me about how he tried to give you his own blood. None of it worked and he had to let you go. But he'll get over it eventually. They all will. They'll all forget you, like you never existed. I won't. I can't. I hate feeling like this. You always reduce me to feeling like this. Even now. We left so many things unsaid, so many issues unresolved. You're dead, but there are still so many things I want to tell you.

I love you, Boone.

There I said it. After all of those years of pretending and conning you, I said it. I love you. You do matter to me. I told Sayid I didn't. I lied. But then you probably already knew that. But it's too late anyways, isn't it? I can finally admit that I love you, love you like I want the sex and marriage and even babies, the whole package deal…but you can't hear me or answer me. I'll never see you come riding in like a white knight in shining armor to my rescue again.

You're dead and I can't fix it and it's too late for any of that now.

**x**

Review is love.


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